


The Drying Of Your Tears

by thedeadparrot



Series: House/BSG-verse [2]
Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), House M.D.
Genre: Crossover, Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-08
Updated: 2009-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-02 04:17:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedeadparrot/pseuds/thedeadparrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House and Wilson deal with their issues. Sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Drying Of Your Tears

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during the first season of BSG. I apologize if the timeline seems wonky.

The first time House catches Wilson flirting with a medic, he's tempted to turn around, walk away, pretend it never happened, because it would make everything simpler in the long run. He can just assume Wilson's cheating on him, and that way, it won't surprise him when he finds out that it's true.

But if there's one thing House is bad at, it's impulse control, so when the medic leaves (she's pretty, too. Which just makes House just that much more certain), he slides up to Wilson (not that easy with the cane) and says, "So, have you frakked her, yet?"

Wilson stiffens, momentarily, and turns to look House. "I'm not cheating on you," he says, and his voice is steady.

That pisses House off, because he hates it when Wilson's trying to lie to him. It's borderline right now, could go either way, but all that could mean is that Wilson's becoming a better liar. "I bet you told your wives that exact same thing. Try again."

Wilson does break his gaze for a second, but that could just be a flinch and not an actual giveaway. "I'm not cheating on you."

His voice is dead on for that one, and House has to admit that either Wilson's not lying or he's learned how to fake it really well in the last week or two, which is possible, but not likely. "Well, right now, you're still in your 'I'm in a committed relationship' phase, which was due to pass a week ago, but you know how it varies from person to person," House says, because it's true.

That was definitely a flinch from Wilson. "House..." he starts, and he has that really hurt, 'why do you kick puppies?' look on his face. House decides that this moment now officially sucks, so he takes off down the corridor so that they can end it before it starts sucking even more.

But Wilson can't seem to do that for whatever reason, because he catches up to House, making the escape attempt kind of pointless. "I know I can't actually say anything that could get you to believe me when I say that I'm not going to cheat on you."

House stares at him, trying to figure him out. "But?"

"But I'm not."

This time, House doesn't actually have to check to see if Wilson's telling the truth. He knows Wilson believes it, at least. (House wants to believe him, too.) He pauses for a moment before replying. "Well, I'm glad we cleared that up," he says and once again, resumes his getaway.

* * *

"I heard you're an oncologist," a voice says as Wilson's going over a set of incomprehensible charts. He's really going to have to yell at House later about that. Though House isn't really talking to him much at the moment. It's not really the silent treatment. More like a standoff, actually.

He looks up to see an older man with white hair and a matching lab coat standing in the doorway. Wilson half-smiles at him. "Used to be, at least." He holds out a hand. "Wilson."

The other man shakes it. "Cottle." Wilson notices that he's carrying a folder, but he doesn't push. He's going to find out why Cottle's here eventually, no need to rush.

"What can I do for you?" Wilson asks. He keeps his tone friendly, professional, the way he would have if Cottle had stepped into his office back home. It's easier, for him, to keep up these little illusions of normalcy.

Cottle opens the folder pulling out a couple of x-rays. "I'd like your opinion on these. A good idea of possible treatment."

Wilson takes his time to go over them, holding them up to the light for better contrast. Female, Wilson notices, breast cancer. He sighs and shakes his head. "It's progressed pretty far. Operating on it would be pretty much impossible. Diloxin would be your best bet, but I don't know how well they'd be able to hold up in these conditions."

"She's already insisted that we not go with diloxin," Cottle says. The expression on his face hasn't budged, which Wilson almost feels a sense of relief over. This would be about the point where House would start in on his "patients are all frakking morons" speech. "She says she wants to try chamalla."

Wilson blinks at him a few times, just to make sure he's just not missing that hint of amusement that would tell him that Cottle's joking. "Well," he says, shrugging his shoulders and rubbing his neck. "I guess it might be worth a shot if she doesn't have any other options." He watches Cottle closely, trying to pick up a reaction. "But I doubt it's going to do much. I'd suggest some pain meds. Just to make her more comfortable."

There isn't much of one, just a curt, formal nod and possibly a flash of frustration. "Thank you, Dr. Wilson," he says.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be more help," Wilson replies, honestly. Cottle seems to understand that, because he nods to that as well, before turning and leaving, taking the x-rays with him.

* * *

Wilson realized a long time ago that he's in love with House, and at the very least, he's not afraid of admitting it to himself. (Admitting it to House, on the other hand, is something completely different.)

It's not the healthiest thing to be in the entire world, and it's definitely not the most sane, but it's true, and Wilson has known it for so long, it's simply become a fact of his life, like sleeping or breathing. Of course, now he actually has to deal with the consequences of it, all the messy sides of their relationship, the things he pitied Stacy for when she was the one who had to deal with this shit.

At the moment, House is stalking him, something that is entirely too easy for him to do, them being stuck on the same ship and all. It's also amazing how stealthy he can be, even with the cane. Wilson is beginning to listen for it all the time, to the point where he's convinced himself he's being paranoid.

But every time he lets down his guard, House appears out of nowhere. Like now, for instance.

"So, it's been two weeks past the point where you usually start cheating on your wives. Are you trying to go for a new record?" House says by way of greeting.

Wilson sighs. He knows he deserves this. He really does. It's the Gods' way of making him suffer for all his past infidelities, and it's working. He's suffering. A lot. "I'm not going to cheat on you," he says, even though it's completely futile.

House rolls his eyes. "Not this again. Denial is so not your best color."

"At this point, I'm beginning to think that you _want_ me to cheat on you." Wilson wishes, sometimes (okay, a lot of the time), that House wouldn't have this compulsion to make everything so frakking _difficult_ all the time.

"I want you to own up to the fact that you're full of shit," House says, completely ignoring Wilson's point. He's just being deliberately obtuse at the point, and Wilson kind of hates him for it.

Wilson sighs again. "Can we put this off until the point where it actually becomes an issue? Because I haven't cheated on you yet, and I'm certainly not planning on cheating on you, so can we wait until I actually cheat on you before we have this conversation?"

House stares at him for a moment, considering. "Fine," he says, childishly, before disappearing as quickly as he appeared.

Wilson thinks that maybe these conversations should kill this screwed up thing he confuses for love, just a little, but they don't. He closes his eyes and resists the urge to whack his head against the bulkhead.

He is so frakked.

* * *

House wakes up one morning to find Wilson hunched over by the wireless catching every word that's coming out of it. It's some political pundits on some political show, talking about the ramifications of some major political something or other that he doesn't quite have enough in him to care about. The fact that Wilson looks worried is something odd, though. Wilson cares more about politics than House does, sure, but not that much.

He opens his mouth to make a snarky comment, but Wilson holds up a finger, silencing him. His expression is tense, and that means that this is really serious.

"... Adama forming a public inquiry. We have no idea how much more information they have that they're not revealing to us, but this a major revelation and I think I understand their reasoning behind it..."

The wireless doesn't tell him anything, and House is now even more confused than he was before. He gives Wilson a questioning look, and Wilson hands over this morning's newspaper.

"Cylons Now Resemble Humans" is the top headline (the only headline, really), and House blinks at it a few times. Well, shit. That is actually news compared to the crap the media seems to churn out more often.

He reads the rest of the article and lets out a low whistle. Wilson turns to look at him, and House says, "That's going to be interesting, at least."

Wilson stares at him. "This isn't going to be pretty, House," he says.

The article also has two pictures of two known Cylon models, and House wracks his brain to see if they look familiar. Not really. The likeness is perfect, as far as he can tell from the small, blurry images, and this really is going to be interesting. He wants to know how they did it, how they built (grew) themselves to be like them, how they managed to get it so close. It's an interesting puzzle. How do you create a human out of a machine?

He wonders if they're going to treat a Cylon without knowing about it. He wonders if they already have.

"The shit's about to hit the fan," Wilson says, and House knows he's talking about the Fleet, the politics of it, but that's not really the interesting part of it. Not the interesting part at all.

* * *

"We should go on vacation," Wilson says, as they eat lunch in the mess, and House rolls his eyes and steals some processed algae off his plate, just because he can. House has decided to go easy on Wilson for the time being due to good behavior, so things are mostly back to normal. Mostly.

"Go where? Caprica? I'm sure the weather's wonderful this time of year. We could relax by the beach and catch all the gamma rays. I hear that's totally in vogue." Objectively, House knows Wilson's right. The _Sargon_ is getting a little cramped, and House is about to go a little insane from seeing the same ten cabins every day. But optimism makes him cranky.

Wilson ignores everything he just said, much to House's irritation and gratitude. "_Cloud 9_ would be nice. Fake sun. Actual plants." He pauses for a moment. "A bar."

"Well, why didn't you say that earlier?" House says. "I'm in."

Wilson shakes his head and rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. It's the amused smile, the one that he saves for the moments when House is being tolerably annoying. "Of course, _that_'s the thing that gets you to go."

House smirks. "Duh," he says. He likes the way Wilson's smile lights up his face, and the fact that he even thinks that makes him want to shove his head in the ground, and pretend the world doesn't exist. "I sure wasn't going to go for the plants," he says, scornfully. He has a reputation to protect.

"Why not? Plants are nice," Wilson's voice has that mild tone he uses when he's trying to hide something, and House knows that it's a bigger deal for him that he's letting on. They don't have any plants on the _Sargon_.

House considers his options. He could be more of a jerk about this than he is right now (which would probably be the normal course of action) or he could actually try to give a little for a change (which would probably be the sort of thing Wilson would want him to do). "Whatever," he says with a roll of his eyes, stealing some more of Wilson's food off his plate.

Wilson changes the subject, and there's an expression on his face that might be gratitude. House isn't sure. He hasn't seen that one very much.

* * *

Every ship has its own Wall. The _Sargon_'s is relatively large for a ship its size, but that makes sense. They're a hospital ship, after all.

The largest Wall in the Fleet is on _Galactica_, so big they have individual walls for each of the Twelve Colonies, which also makes sense in its own way. Everything circles around _Galactica_. Everything.

Wilson doesn't have that many photos with him, really, from before (or after, even). He'd generally been good about throwing out photographs after the divorces, so he'd only had one of Julie that had hidden inside his wallet during the post-divorce sweep. He also found another one, of him and his brothers when they were younger, but that was it. He'd left his photo albums at home.

Whether or not House has any photos of his own, Wilson doesn't know, and House probably wouldn't tell him.

Of course, that doesn't mean House doesn't accompany him to the _Sargon_'s Wall when Wilson puts up his photos. "It's all a pathetic form of masochism," House pesters, as Wilson places the photograph of Julie at one of the edges, where it doesn't cover up any of the other photos. "You think that putting a picture on a wall will make you feel better, because then you can feel solidarity with, oh, the entire rest of the Fleet, but really, you're just doing it so that you can walk by it every day and feel really depressed."

Wilson places his brothers' photo underneath the one of Julie and feels the sudden, sharp pang of their loss. (Even though Evan had been gone for a while, he's still even more gone now.) "Shut up, House," he says, and he's amazed that his voice doesn't choke on the words.

House does him a favor by rolling his eyes and leaving.

Wilson takes a moment to step back and see the entire thing, and he admires the patchwork completeness of it, the way in which all the pieces fit together to make a larger whole. Then he steps in closer, so that he can see each one up close, see each person lost and get a sense of the fact that they'd lived. That someone cared enough about them to remember them here.

Near the bottom, something catches his eye. It's a photo of Stacy, clearly from the days from when she was still living with House. She's smiling, and the worry lines from the infarction haven't formed yet. Her picture is right next to one of John and Blythe House, standing in front of the Delphi Museum on Caprica. They're both mostly hidden under other photos, placed deliberately there by someone who didn't want anyone else to see them. It makes Wilson smile a little, even as it makes his heart ache as well.

He never mentions it to House, because House wants to keep this secret, and Wilson is willing to let him have it.

* * *

It never fails to surprise House to find out how soft Wilson's skin is. He runs his lips over the back of Wilson's neck, slides them over his collarbone. Wilson's still asleep at this point, his breathing steady and slow, so that means that House can do some exploring without letting it give away too much. (It should probably bother him more that he feels the need to hide this from Wilson, but he's letting Wilson do all the psychoanalyzing from now on.)

There's a mole on Wilson's left hip that House is fascinated by. He runs a finger over it, a tongue. Wilson's body doesn't stir, probably because he got in late last night after a long shift. House knows how deep the sleeps are after one of those. He nuzzles against Wilson's hair, appreciating the feel of it against his cheek. He kind of hates himself for that. The more he does things like this, the less able he will be to deny to himself that he actually has feelings.

(He thinks Wilson knows, maybe, but House likes to pretend that he doesn't.)

Wilson turns in his sleep, so that now he's facing House. It's different, from this angle. Different from all the times Wilson crashed on his couch, all the times he caught Wilson sleeping in his office, all the times he'd walked into Wilson's room during a medical conference and poked him awake with his cane. He can see Wilson's eyes shifting under his eyelids, deep in REM state. He can feel every breath on his skin. It's different.

It makes House wonder what would have happened, if things hadn't changed. Nothing, probably. They'd have held steady for the next ten-twenty years. Wilson probably would have remarried at least one more time. House would have started shacking up with Cameron or Cuddy. But in the end, nothing would have been different, not between them.

He presses a kiss to Wilson's forehead and reminds himself that he's right here, right now. (That it doesn't really matter that things could have been different; they aren't.)

Wilson mumbles something in his sleep that House doesn't catch and pulls himself in, closer to House's body. House thinks that he might have said the word "love", and something in House panics, tries to pull away, but he stills himself, calms down the racing of his heart.

And lets Wilson stay.

 

FIN.


End file.
